


your arms around me

by iovewords



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Babysitting, Blood and Injury, F/M, Family, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Identity Reveal, Mild Angst, Patch up scene, Tourist Hell, muppets - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iovewords/pseuds/iovewords
Summary: Like any sensible native New Yorker, Peter followed one simple rule when visiting Times Square:Don’t.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 61





	your arms around me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spideysmjs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/gifts).



> Happy Galentine's Day! This was originally just going to be silly but then it turned into an actual semi-serious story.
> 
> Partially inspired by the Times Square scene in The Amazing Spider-Man 2.
> 
> Title from "Your Arms Around Me" by Jens Lekman.

Like any sensible native New Yorker, Peter followed one simple rule when visiting Times Square:

_Don’t._

But when an adorable small child visiting the city for the weekend was begging to please, please, please take her to M&M’s World, well then it was a bit harder to say no. Luckily said small child was not asking him, but rather her Aunt Michelle who just so happened to be Peter’s roommate. MJ was in a real pickle here, because she had a huge soft spot for her young niece, but she also hated the capitalistic, overcrowded tourist trap that was Times Square. Love won out in the end, so MJ reluctantly agreed. She then politely asked (read: demanded) Peter join them, making it clear if he wanted any candy he had to come and get it himself.

Peter said yes. He wanted to be a good roommate and friend. He was also extremely indebted to MJ who had saved his ass as his superhero activities blew up his love life once again.

The last incident- last Saturday night- was particularly painful for several reasons. He had gotten himself stabbed and MJ was unsurprisingly furious and worried when he stumbled his way back to their apartment. In his humble post-recovery opinion, the injury had been only slightly life-threatening. But there _was_ a lot of blood coming out of his body, so MJ wisely stripped off her jeans to avoid ruining them while she patched him up. Peter was in such a haze of pain he barely noticed, which was saying something because as a friend, he thought she had really nice legs.

He also forgot that he had a date, and that Briana from Tinder was coming over at 7 so he could impress her with his sexy culinary skills. (He was planning a spaghetti and meatballs dish, and the fact that this was one of the only meals he knew how to make was irrelevant).

7 o’clock arrived, and with it came Briana, who was understandably not happy to see her date’s female roommate answer the door in a hastily thrown on bathrobe, and tell her that yes, Peter was here, but sorry, she couldn’t come in.

_“Asshole!”_

Even in his half passed out state, Peter had caught the angry, hurt shout from the front door and her footsteps as she stormed away from the apartment. Groaning from where he lay slumped on the cold bathroom tile, Peter let his head thunk against the bathtub and closed his eyes. He had liked Briana. 

If only he could get to know her, or any of his romantic potentials well enough, maybe he could tell them the truth and get them to understand. But to establish that level of trust and intimacy, they would have to date first, and his Spider-Manning kept disrupting dates before they could even happen. Thus, his love life was pathetic and basically nonexistent.

It would be so much easier if he could just date someone who already knew.

* * *

“Woooooow!” Zoe gasps, tilting her head up to gaze open-mouthed at the colorful billboards and flashing lights above them. She nearly stumbles, but Peter and MJ keep her steady, each holding onto her little hands as they make their way down the crowded sidewalk. Peter leads the way, shouldering through the masses of people.

“Come on, Zozo,” MJ tells Zoe as she tries in vain to stop and watch a screen that’s playing a commercial for an upcoming animated movie. “Remember rule 101 of visiting New York? Don’t stop in the middle of the sidewalk.” 

Zoe doesn’t seem to be listening, her attention now jumping to a Broadway advertisement across the street. “Can we see The Lion King?” she asks.

“Not today. You have to get tickets in advance. Maybe another time.”

“Aww.”

“So you’re saying you want to come back here again?” Peter asks over his shoulder and MJ shoots him a glare. 

They approach a crosswalk, and Peter is about to step off the curb, when he freezes, a familiar tingle at the back of his neck alerting him of imminent danger. Behind him, MJ, who must see the sudden rigidness in his shoulders, asks, “What? What is it?”

He isn’t sure. Despite many practiced years of focusing his senses, there’s too many people and too much noise around him, and he’s unable to tell where the danger is coming from.

A second later, MJ’s question is answered when a nearby LED screen explodes in a shower of sparks, prompting screams as pieces rain down to the busy street below.

“Whoa!” Zoe yells in excitement, oblivious to the panic that erupts in the crowd around them, as people start to run. Peter slips his hand out of her grasp and spins around to meet MJ’s fearful gaze. 

“I have to-”

“-go,” she finishes, tugging her niece backward and placing her free hand on Zoe’s shoulder. She nods, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Hey, where’s he going?” Zoe demands as Peter sprints away from them. 

At first he isn't sure where _to_ go- there are too many people around, and the surrounding storefronts don’t offer any concealed or empty places to duck into so he can change. Another billboard screen explodes, causing more people to scream and run. It’s utter chaos, and Peter curses the fact that it’s happening _here_ in Times Square where hundreds of civilians are gathered, while at the same time feeling grateful that he’s here at the same time to stop it. 

Whatever it is.

Relief courses through him when he finally spots a stalled double decker tour bus. Terrified passengers are pouring out the doors, too focused on their own frantic escape to notice him scale the side of the bus in seconds. After an agonizing long time, the last passengers leave, and he hurries down to the bottom level, ducking into a seat and quickly yanking off his sweatshirt and jeans. It’s a good thing he decided to wear the suit under his clothes today.

When Peter emerges from the bus, he quickly discovers the source of the explosions. A figure is hovering in the air, propelling himself by golden bolts of electricity that seem to be generating from his hands and feet.

“Hey, Sparkles!” Peter yells, shooting off a web and launching himself toward the human capacitor. 

“It’s Electro!” the man roars, the air crackling with heat as he aims a lightning strike in Peter’s direction. Peter dodges easily, but winces as the bolt hits a lamppost, causing the bulb to explode and the post to bend with a metallic groan. Glass rains down on an unlucky group who are running beneath it. They shriek, belatedly shielding their heads with their arms.

Distantly, Peter can see police starting to sheperd civilians away from the scene, but panic is causing people to rush the already crowded sidewalks and streets. If he can keep Electro distracted and contained within the immediate area, hopefully everyone can get safely evacuated. 

Launching himself forward, Peter fires a web toward the electrical man. It connects with Electro’s wrist, but in return he releases a charge that instantly shoots back down the strand of webbing. The voltage sends Peter flying into a taxi, the impact of his body crumpling the door and shattering the windows.

“Ow,” he groans, the combination of electrical shock and possible concussion creating a throbbing cocktail of pain inside his skull. Okay, so clearly directly webbing the guy isn’t going to work. 

Staggering to his feet, Peter scans the area and spots a nearby table. Bingo. He aims a web and yanks, whipping it around like a lasso above his head, and then launches it toward Electro who reacts a second too late. The table crashes into him, knocking him out of the air.

Enraged, Electro picks himself back up and sends an onslaught of lightning strikes in Peter’s direction. Peter dodges, leaping and flipping out of the way, before landing on the top of an abandoned delivery truck for a better vantage point. He’s about to take off when out of the corner of his eye, he spots a red furry figure crouched beside the front tire. The figure raises their head, and Peter meets the soulless googly eyes of a familiar Sesame Street character.

A half second later, his spider-sense screams at him, and Peter reacts instinctively. He shoots off a web and leaps down, grabbing the costumed character around the middle and swinging them up and away just as an enormous bolt of electrostatic energy hits the gas tank. 

The explosion is instantaneous- fire and shrapnel blast in all directions. Peter feels the burning lick of the flames, the heat roaring in his ears. 

He touches down on top of a nearby building, gently letting go of his furry friend, who sways on their feet. The fur on their costume is singed, but fortunately Peter’s suit took the brunt of the blast. He can feel painful burns all over his body in addition to the mild concussion he already got from slamming into the taxi. 

“You okay, man?” Peter asks the mascot, who pulls off the oversized muppet head, revealing a bald, sweaty face.

“Holy fucking shit,” Elmo says. 

“You good?” 

Elmo gives him a look. “Are _you_ good?”

It’s then that Peter realizes he can feel the breeze against the exposed burnt skin on his face. Bringing a hand up to his cheek, he feels rips and tears all around the mask, including a concerning large hole around his left eye. How the mask is still in one piece is a miracle. What will also be a miracle is getting through the rest of this fight without his face being recorded by all the smartphones and security cameras.

Peter looks down at the muppet mask in Elmo’s hands (paws?). 

“Elmo,” he says, solemnly. “Would you do me a solid and let me borrow your head?”

Elmo snorts out a disbelieving laugh, and holds it out. “Take it- I don’t give a shit. I hate this job.”

“Thank you,” Peter says. “I have to keep my face covered,” he explains, taking the head. 

“Good for you,” Elmo deadpans, glancing around, and widening his eyes once he realizes exactly where and how high up they are. “Can you get me down?”

“Lemme take care of Sparkles first,” Peter says apologetically, pulling the bright red mask over his own.

Elmo doesn’t look happy about this. 

“Be right back!” Taking a running jump, Peter leaps back to the plaza to continue the fight.

During the 30 seconds Peter left him unattended, Electro has uncovered a metal grate in the street and begun charging himself with a power cable. The NYPD are shooting at him from behind their cars, but the bullets don’t seem to faze him. Now is the perfect time to strike, while his back is turned and his guard is down.

Peter lands on a traffic light pole and scans the area, searching for suitable objects to hit him with. It’s difficult to see in the Elmo mask, which will be less of a problem when he’s actually fighting, because he can rely on his spider-sense. But the narrow eye holes are impacting his peripheral vision. Not to mention his ego, because he knows he must look utterly ridiculous.

Spotting a nearby fire hydrant, Peter gets an idea. He gets closer, and webs the hydrant, ripping it clear out of the concrete. A roaring white geyser blasts out of the hole ( _I’ve always wanted to visit Yellowstone,_ Peter thinks, wryly), shooting 30 feet into the air. Electro, predictably, whirls his head around at the sound, but Peter is ready for him. 

Springboarding off the pole he’s perched on, he swings around to build up momentum, then launches himself in Electro’s direction. Before the villain can react, Peter dropkicks him, sending him flying directly into the gushing fountain of water. Instantly, he short-circuits, and crumples to the ground.

Peter lands beside Electro’s prone body and kicks at his shoulder. Yep, he’s out. 

“ _Hahaha_ ,” Peter laughs mockingly in his best squeaky Elmo impression. “ _Elmo has defeated you!_ ”

He decides not to stick around after this. His head is splitting, his entire body aches, and police and curious spectators are starting to approach. Peter feels increasingly aware of his absurd appearance, hearing peals of shocked laughter and disbelieving murmurs of “what is Spider-Man wearing?”

With a sigh, Peter sends a web out and propels himself back up to the building where he left real Elmo, who’s waiting impatiently with his arms crossed. 

“Thanks for the mask,” Peter says, moving to take it off.

“No, keep it. It suits you.”

This feels like a backhanded compliment, but Peter understands Elmo’s irritation. While city-block destroying supervillain/alien bullshit is nothing new for New Yorkers, it doesn’t lessen the fact that the guy didn’t sign up for this when he took the job of taking pictures with dumb tourists who walk away without tipping him.

After returning him to the ground, Peter goes back to the tour bus to pick up his clothes. He then decides to head home, because his entire body feels like a scorched marshmallow.

Pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket, Peter dials as he swings, making his way back to the apartment.

MJ answers on the first ring.

“Hey,” she says, her voice thick with concern. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Peter says, honestly. “I’m gonna go home and lie down. Sorry to ditch you guys. Are you and Zoe alright?”

“We’re fine,” she assures him. “We got swept up in the crowd, and we’re actually heading in the direction of the M&M store. So even though a man shooting lightning bolts just wreaked havoc across Times Square, we’re going to keep shopping, because of course businesses are still open.”

“That’s New York for you,” Peter says, wincing as he narrowly avoids clipping the side of a skyscraper. It’s really hard to see in this damn thing.

“By the way, I’m hearing something about an Elmo mask?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know what that’s about,” he lies.

“Hmm,” she says, and he can hear her suspicious squint through the phone.

* * *

The moment Peter climbs through his bedroom window, all energy leaves his body. He pulls off the Elmo head, tossing it to a far corner in his room, following suit with his own shredded mask. He then collapses onto his bed and immediately conks out, too exhausted to get into a more comfortable position.

Peter awakens some time later to the sound of the front door opening, Zoe’s excited chattering, and MJ trying in vain to shush her. He closes his eyes, trying to go back to sleep and ignore his headache. A few minutes later, his bedroom door creaks open, and then something lands on his stomach.

Peter pops open an eye and weakly lifts his head to gaze at a gift bag of red and blue M&M’s. The plastic wrap is decorated with little Spider-Man heads.

“Aww thanks,” he says.

“So there _was_ an Elmo mask,” MJ says, and he looks over at where she’s standing by his tornado of a desk, lifting the burnt head by its big orange nose.

“I had to make do,” Peter admits. “My own mask was shredded in the explosion.”

“I know,” MJ says, dropping the head, and reaching into her back pocket to pull out her phone. She taps and scrolls, then turns the phone around to show him her Twitter feed full of pictures and videos of himself in action wearing the stupid muppet mask. “Did you steal it?”

“No, Real Elmo let me borrow it and said I could keep it.”

“Nice of him.” She walks over to his bed, and he gingerly sits up, wincing from the pounding of his head and the stinging burns on his arms and torso. Her amused demeanor changes as she takes in the full extent of his injuries, a worried furrow appearing between her eyebrows. “I’m gonna get the first aid kit. Do you need help taking the suit off?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

She nods and disappears through the door while he starts removing the suit. He mutters an assortment of expletives under his breath as the fabric pulls at his red blistered skin. MJ returns shortly, and he shuffles over on the bed while she sinks onto the mattress beside him and pulls out the cool compresses.

“Where’s Zoe?” Peter asks, relaxing as she starts applying one of the compresses to his shoulder.

“Napping in my room. Or she better be. I shouldn’t have let her eat all that candy on the way back,” MJ replies, her voice full of regret.

“What did you tell her when I left?”

“That you had to take pictures for the Daily Bugle.”

Peter opens his mouth to say, “Great thinking,” but MJ continues, “She didn’t believe me though. She thought you were being a bad boyfriend for abandoning us in the middle of a crisis.”

“But I’m not your boyfriend,” Peter says, crushed that MJ’s niece now thinks terribly of him.

“I know, idiot, but she doesn’t understand that. She thinks because we live together, we must be a couple.”

“Oh.”

“And to protect your identity, I had to lie and agree with her that you were a scaredy-cat for running away. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says, bummed out.

“I want to help!” Peter’s bedroom door bangs open, and they freeze as Zoe comes bursting through, lugging her Doc McStuffins doctor bag.

“Zoe!” MJ jumps to her feet, kicking Peter’s lump of a suit under his bed, while he quickly grabs his pillow and covers his boxers. “I told you to stay in my room!”

Zoe stops short, pulling a plastic stethoscope out of the bright pink and lavender bag. “I can help! Hi Peter!”

“Hi Zoe,” Peter says, awkwardly. “Uh…”

“I figured out you’re Spider-Man,” Zoe tells him, oblivious to the sheer panic and shock she’s suddenly causing the two grownups. “It’s ‘cause Aunt Michelle was so worried about you.”

MJ whips her head around to meet Peter’s eye, her own eyes widened. “I wasn’t…”

“That was so cool how you kicked that guy’s butt!” Zoe continues excitedly. “You looked really funny in that Elmo mask.” She spots it on the floor and smiles. “Oh cool, there it is!”

MJ shakes off her shock and crouches down to Zoe’s level. “We’re both so glad you want to help, Zozo, but I’ve got it covered. Why don’t you go back to my room, and lie down for a nap _like I told you to_?”

Zoe pouts. “Okay.” She closes her bag, then peers closer at Peter’s injuries. “Does it hurt?”

“Just a little,” Peter tells her. 

MJ adds, “He’s very brave.”

Zoe nods again, satisfied. “Okay bye!” She runs out of the room, and MJ closes the door behind her.

She turns around, her grimacing expression mirroring his. “So… she knows. Apparently I gave it away by being too visibly concerned for your wellbeing.” She looks slightly embarrassed at this, though he’s not sure why.

“To be fair, she is related to you,” Peter offers. “Being extremely smart and observant runs in the family.”

The corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “Thanks, loser.” Then she lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry she found out.”

“It’s okay.”

MJ walks back over to his bed and bends to pick up another cool compress from the first aid kit. “I’ll try to talk to her later. See if I can convince her otherwise.”

“Thanks MJ,” Peter says, softly. “I appreciate it.”

* * *

Ultimately, MJ is unable to convince her niece Peter isn’t Spider-Man. The evidence is pretty damning, since Peter’s very clearly injured from the attack in Times Square, and Zoe saw his suit and the Elmo mask in his room. So they go with Plan B: encouraging her with the Very Important Responsibility of helping Spider-Man by protecting his secret.

“This means you can’t tell your mom and dad,” MJ tells Zoe, as she sits between the adults on the beat up couch in the living room. “This secret has to stay between the three of us, okay?”

“Okay!” Zoe agrees cheerfully. “That’s easy, ‘cause I keep other secrets from them all the time.”

MJ raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like reading under the covers after bedtime,” Zoe declares, looking very pleased with herself.

Peter catches MJ’s eye and grins.

Later, after they put Zoe to bed (and MJ “accidentally” leaves a flashlight sitting out on her nightstand), Peter and MJ convene in the kitchen. MJ starts the electric kettle for herbal tea while Peter gets out the mugs and tea bags.

“Do you think she’ll tell anyone?” Peter asks, carefully setting MJ’s favorite mug on the counter. She’s had it since high school and uses it everyday. “Like her friends at school?”

“Nah, I think we drilled it into her well enough,” MJ replies. “Unfortunately she’s still convinced of one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

MJ crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. “She still thinks we’re together. Like, that’s why she figured it out. Because I was so worried about you.”

“Oh,” Peter says, feeling a strange flip in his stomach at her words. “But...friends can worry about each other.”

“I know,” she says quietly. 

They fall into a silence, waiting for the kettle to boil. A knotted yarn ball of confused and hopeful thoughts swirls around in Peter’s head. 

They speak at the same time.

“Peter-”

“MJ-”

He stops and nods at her to go ahead.

“Peter,” she takes a deep breath and a step closer to him. “I think… I think I want to be more than friends.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Well, that’s great, because I was thinking the same damn thing.” With a burst of confidence, he reaches an arm around her and pulls her in for a kiss. She kisses him back, hands moving to his waist, mindful of the bandages on his ribs (that Zoe had said made him look like a mummy). 

The kiss is impossibly sweet, and Peter’s head swims at the fact that he’s finally kissing her, MJ, Michelle, his best friend. 

“I really like you,” he says, as soon as they break apart.

MJ laughs, her eyes bright with fondness. “I really like you too.”

“That’s great,” he says, moving his hand from her back to play with her long curly hair. “I guess Zoe was right about us after all.”

“She’s observant.”

“Like you.”

Peter can’t stop smiling, even though it’s pulling at the tender burnt skin on his cheek under the bandages. “We should get her a gift basket for helping us figure our shit out. Like- hey, maybe get her some more M&M’s.”

“Great idea!” MJ agrees. “But let’s get them online this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading  
>   
> 


End file.
